Tommy Revisited

[The Reaper]

Just in today, not bad.

Welcome to socialized medicine.

TR



Tommy Atkins (with apologies to Kipling)


Written by Patrick Campbell


They flew me 'ome from Baghdad with a bullet in me chest.

Cos they've closed the army 'ospitals, I'm in the NHS.

The nurse, she ain't no Britisher an' so she ain't impressed.

It's like I'm some street corner thug who's come off second best.

Yes, it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "You're not welcome 'ere".

But when Saddam was collar'd, they was quick enough to cheer.



They're proud when Tommy Atkins 'olds the thin red line out there,

But now he's wounded back at 'ome, he has to wait for care.

Some stranger in the next bed sez, "Don't you feel no shame?

You kill my Muslim brothers!" So it's me not 'im to blame!

An' then the cleaner ups an' sez "Who are you fightin' for?

It ain't for Queen and country 'cos it's Bush's bloody war!"

It's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, what's that smell?"

But it's "God go with you, Tommy," when they fly us out to 'ell.



O then we're just like 'eroes from the army's glorious past.

Yes, it's "God go with you, Tommy," when the trip might be your last.

They pays us skivvy wages, never mind we're sitting ducks,

When clerks what's pushing pens at 'ome don't know their flippin' luck.

"Ah, yes" sez they "but think of all the travel to be 'ad."

Pull the other one. Does Cooks do 'olidays in Baghdad?

It's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, know your place,"

But it's "Tommy, take the front seat," when there's terrorists to chase

..

An' the town is full of maniacs who'd like you dead toot sweet.

Yes, it's "Thank you, Mr Atkins," when they find you in the street.

There's s'pposed to be a covynant to treat us fair an' square

But I 'ad to buy me army boots, an' me combats is threadbare.

An' 'alf the bloody 'elicopters can't get in the air,

An' me pistol jammed when snipers fired. That's why I'm laid up 'ere.

Yes, it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, "We 'ave to watch the pence";

Bold as brass the P.M. sez, "We spare them no expense.



"But I'll tell you when they do us proud an' pull out all the stops,

It's when Tommy lands at Lyneham in a bloomin' wooden box!

(Source: Mike Gormley)

[mojaveman]

I fear an American version of this poem.

[Richard]

A modern Ballad of Ira Hayes. :(

Ira Hayes, Ira Hayes
Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war

Gather round me people there's a story I would tell
About a brave young Indian you should remember well
From the land of the Pima Indian
A proud and noble band
Who farmed the Phoenix valley
In Arizona land

Down the ditches for a thousand years
The water grew Ira's peoples' crops
'Till the white man stole the water rights
And the sparkin' water stopped

Now Ira's folks were hungry
And their land grew crops of weeds
When war came, Ira volunteered
And forgot the white man's greed

Call him drunkin' Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war

They battled up Iwo Jima's hill
Two hundred and fifty men
But only twenty-seven lived to walk back down again

And when the fight was over
And when Old Glory raised
Amoung the men who held it high
Was the Indian, Ira Hayes

Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war

Ira returned a hero
Celebrated through the land
He was wined and speeched and honored;
Everybody shook his hand

But he was just a Pima Indian
No water, no crops, no chance
At home nobody cared what Ira'd done
And when do the Indians dance

Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war

Then Ira started drinkin hard;
Jail was often his home
They'd let him raise the flag and lower it
Like you'd throw a dog a bone!

He died early drunk one mornin'
Alone in the land he fought to save
Two inches of water in a lonely ditch
Was the grave for Ira Hayes

Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war

Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes
But his land is just as dry
And his ghost is lyin' thirsty
In the ditch where Ira died

Richard's $.02 :munchin

[swpa19]

RICHARD:

A modern Ballad of Ira Hayes

WHERE did you pull that from? It must be close to 35 years since I read/heard that. I think it was Johnny Cash that recorded it.

Didnt think you was that old.

[Surf n Turf]

Similar tone & tenor of Kipling from the present
SnT

American Soldier

Across ten thousand battle fields
He fought the seasoned foe
The desolation that war yields
His conscience came to know.
He lived and died in every fray
His blood soaked fields and streams
His valor always led the way
Disrupting sullen dreams.

The demographics were not pat
He came from every sphere
His mother ran a laundromat
His dad and auctioneer.
Back home he was a ne’er do well
He was almost unknown
He left serenity for Hell
As freedoms’ seeds were sown.

Quite often we sought to define
The reasons why he came
He laid much more upon the line
Then just his family name.
He offered up his memories
He ransomed things to come
He wallowed not in vain glories
He gave his total sum.

Tread fast upon the battle field
To learn his firm resolve
His deeds ring out like armored shields
To make foes’ hopes dissolve.
His hopes abide in miracles
His faith, much like the wind,
Cannot be stilled by obstacles
His valor knows no end.

The only asset he can own
Aside from combat skills
Lies mainly in his life alone
And in the foes he kills.
His value isn’t in his death
It’s that he will survive.
His dying spent his final breath
To keep free men alive.

The endless stream of brave young men
Who fight to make men free
Will answer this great call again
By heavenly decree
American soldiers do abound
And strive to make men free
A nobler cause has not been found
Nor will there ever be.

By Don Groninger
http://www.usa-patriotism.com/poems/tv/american_soldier-04.htm